Game of Thrones - The King in the North who once was a Bastard
by peytonrm
Summary: Following the Battle of the Bastards, Jon Snow finds it hard to fall asleep. Amidst his duties as a recently chosen King, a protector of the North and a brother, his mind is cluttered with worry. During his late night walk, however, someone is brought to him that ends up playing a big role in Jon Snow's life as well as the future of the North.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One.

The Battle of the Bastards left a cold, vacant stare in Jon Snow's eyes. One that often lingered after his battles, but would disappear slowly, Sansa knew. She watched her brother and his men reclaim their beloved home, Winterfell, as she walked around the courtyard, trying to shake off the terror and anger Ramsey Bolton had left in her heart. Although his hounds had devoured him, and the banners of his House were burned to ashes, she couldn't let go of the thought that her tormenter had lived in her home, perhaps even walked or slept in her bedroom. She requested to have Jon's room, so Jon could take the chamber that once belonged to Ned and Catelyn. Jon realized perfectly well why she so desperately wanted to change rooms, and accepted right away.

So that night, as Sansa lay in her new bed in a state of restless tossing and turning, Jon took it upon himself to rediscover the home that was once so familiar to him. His knuckles were still bruised and battered and the cuts in his face still fresh, but he'd washed off the blood, put on clean clothing, and felt more human than he had in a long time. As human as he could, under the circumstances. The frigid winds of winters kept him on his feet as he walked over the wall and greeted his guards. Being unable to sleep, taking late night walks was something he'd done for years, even when he was still a boy.

The sky was black but clear – the stars and the moon bright and full, meaning that the day to come was going to be as cold or colder than the last. In his head, Jon could hear Ned Stark's promise echoing, and a shiver traveled down his spine. _''Winter is coming''_. Even the winds seemed to whisper it.

As he made his way over the wall, towards the Bell Tower, Jon heard scuffling down at the courtyard, and he watched two of his men drag a woman – whose head was covered with a sack – through the gravel, towards him.

''What is this?'', Jon called out as he walked down the wooden stairs and approached the small entourage.

The man on the left, a blonde man whose face was scarred by battle, was the first to talk.

''One of Ramsey Bolton's whores we'd presume. We found her chained in the stables''.

''She bit me!'', the other one exclaimed, pressing his hand to his bleeding ear.

''Remove that sack'', Jon ordered immediately.

The two men looked at each other in hesitation ever so briefly, before quickly pulling the jute sack off her head.

When Jon Snow lied his eyes upon the woman's face, he froze for a short second. Despite the heavy bruising on her left cheekbone, the cut in her bottom lip and the dried blood under her nose, she was beautiful. Her hair was kissed by fire and reminded the young king of Ygritte, but this woman's shade was darker. Jon's eyes wandered from the thin scar on her forehead to her thick brows, and then towards the steel grey eyes underneath them. They looked straight at him, no sign of fear, and Jon noticed they were so bright they almost shared the same color as the moon on this dark, cold night. Her mouth had been gagged - presumably by the two men to prevent her from biting – and for some reason, it irritated Jon.

''Remove that gag'', he ordered.

''But, your grace-'', the wounded man started carefully.

''Now!'', Jon commanded. ''She's no animal''. His voice was strong and firm, slightly angry, even, and the two men quickly unbound the woman's mouth.

Immediately, the woman started fighting to break free, and the two men visibly struggled to contain her. Jon ordered them to stand firmly and let the woman exhaust herself, which didn't take long. Her body seemed underfed and there was little strength in her bones, though her eyes spit fire.

''Who are you?'', Jon asked as he stepped closer and inspected her face. She was around his age, he guessed. Maybe slightly younger.

Though she was clearly conscious, the woman did not speak, and Jon tried again.

''Where are you from?''.

The woman raised her head a little, visibly clenching her jaws together, as she looked straight into Jon's eyes. For some reason, he was slightly taken aback by this because lately, everybody but the people really close to him – like Sansa – had looked at him with some sort of hesitation, even admiration or fear, sometimes. This woman had no fear for him, and certainly no admiration.

''Who hurt you?'', Snow tried again. For a short second, he thought he saw the young woman's lip tremble, but it also could've been an illusion of the dark.

Jon grew more curious by the second, but he realized quite quickly she wasn't going to answer any of his questions. He wondered if she still even had a tongue, considering Ramsey Bolton's love of torturing people - especially women.

''Speak!'', the scarred man hissed as he pulled his dagger from his belt and put it to the young woman's throat. ''This is the King in the North in front of you. Answer him!''.

The steel eyes looked to the right, at the scarred man, and then turned towards Jon.

''Kill me'', she answered. Her voice was soft but determined, and all three men frowned. ''If it please you, of course.. _your grace_ '', the red-haired woman added sarcastically.

For a few seconds, no one spoke, and Jon tried to suppress a soft smile. For some reason, it felt refreshing to be addressed and made fun of as an equal. It reminded him of a time many years ago, when he was just Jon Snow the bastard.

''We will do no such thing'', Jon answered finally. ''Put your dagger down''.

The sharp blade disappeared into black leather, and Jon saw a flash of disbelief shimmering in the woman's otherwise angry eyes.

''You will wake the handmaiden and have her be provided with food, clothes… and a bath'', was his order. ''I will speak to her in the morning''.

A deep frown appeared between the woman's brows as she was taken away by the two soldiers, and Jon returned to his chamber, trading the cold winter air for the slightly less cold comfort of his bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two.

Despite his exhaustion, the raven-haired king was one of the first to awaken the next morning, along with his equally exhausted looking sister and his enemy-turned-friend Tormund Giantsbane. Jon told them about the encounter he had the night before, with his two soldiers and the unknown woman. While Giantsbane was curious to know more about this mysterious lady, Sansa warned him of the possible danger this woman might bring.

''If she truly was one of Ramsay's… ladies'', Sansa spoke softly. ''Her alliances might lie with House Bolton, still''.

''An alliance to an extinct House!'', Giantsbane sneered, shaking his head in amusement. ''See how that turns out''.

''She might be dangerous, Jon'', Sansa warned him, ignoring the wildling's mockery.

Jon nodded and smiled reassuringly as he squeezed her shoulder. ''I'll be careful'', he promised, after which he made his way over the courtyard, swiftly greeting Brienne and Podrick. He'd given Brienne - among others - the responsibility of training the men and women for their upcoming fight against the Night King. He trusted Brienne, and she was a fierce warrior, undoubtedly.

Like the night had promised, it was an exceptionally cold day. The sky was clouded and grey, shielding the sun from their frozen skin, and snowflakes slowly danced from it, covering their capes and hair in a thin layer of white. Jon had nightmares, often, of the Night King and his army of the dead approaching the wall, and every time he woke up afterwards, bathing in his sweat, he felt an unmeasurable feeling of responsibility crushing his chest. He still wondered if he was fit to be King, and wished even more often he had the council of his father or brother to guide him through. He knew his men, his sister and his allies believed in him wholeheartedly, but instead of relieving Jon from that crushing weight each early morning, it only seemed to make it weigh heavier. The thought of letting them down was something Jon did not know how to handle.

After being directed to the mystery woman's chamber by Sansa's handmaiden, Jon knocked on the door softly, not wanting to wake her up if she was still asleep. There was no answer, so he softly opened the wooden door and walked in, immediately greeted by the warm embrace of dancing flames.

She stood by the fireplace, her back turned towards him, and her long red hair braided over her shoulder. Jon thought the dress she was wearing was new, but he couldn't quite tell. His eyes wandered from her back to the untouched plate of oatmeal on her nightstand.

''Aren't you hungry?'', he asked, not quite knowing what to say.

''The heat is escaping, your grace'', was the answer.

Jon responded by closing the door behind him.

''Will you tell me what your name is?''.

She stayed quiet for a few seconds, ignoring his gaze, as she watched the flames dance and lick on the wood. Her answer confused Jon more than he already was. ''I go by many names'', she said. ''I'll be whoever you want me to be''.

As she turned towards him, he noticed that she had another scar, on the left side of her upper lip. It was thin and barely noticeable, but it was there, and Jon couldn't help but believe it was Ramsay Bolton's doing, which was a suspicion quickly confirmed.

''Ramsay loved to call me Sansa'', she whispered, and a frown appeared between Jon's brows. ''I know that's your sister''.

The young king couldn't help but feel disgusted when he understood what Ramsay'd done, but he was by no means surprised. Ramsay Bolton was a sadistic individual.

''When she left'', the woman continued. ''I was all he had left to torment''. Her voice seemed to shake, and he saw a combination of pain, anger and fear in her eyes that he'd seen the night before, when she looked at him. He wondered if she thought he was like him, if she thought of him as a sadistic man, too.

''I'm not like Ramsay''. Jon's voice sounded dark when he answered. ''I'm not here for that. I'm not here to hurt you''.

''Then what?'', she asked angrily, clenching her jaws together. ''What _do_ you want, King in the North?''. She spit the words like they were poison in her mouth, and though the fear and pain had left her eyes, the anger lingered and seemed only worse.

''If you want to leave, I won't stop you. I'll give you one of the horses. You're free to go''.

Immediately, the anger in the woman's eyes faded, her jaws unclenched and all of a sudden she looked small and fragile. ''I can't'', she whispered.

Jon simply frowned.

''I have nowhere to go''.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for her when he saw the sudden sadness gleaming in her silver eyes.

''Then you're welcome to stay'', the king told her. She didn't smile, but she didn't protest. She stood there, her hands folded together in front of her, not quite sure what to do with this revelation. Jon decided not to burden her any further and walked towards the door. As he opened it and stood with his back towards her, a few last words slipped from her lips.

''It's Arden. My name''.

''Like the Forest of Arden'', was Jon's remark.

And she – Arden, smiled for the first time. A genuine smile, Jon wasn't sure - but she smiled. He returned the sign of goodwill and walked out the chamber, back into the freezing cold of winter.

Just seconds after his eyes met Sansa's, who was standing a few feet across, halfway past the wooden stairs. Jon walked towards her, and he could tell she was suspicious of the situation. The distrust lay clear in her eyes.

''I don't know… where she's from'', Jon spoke, before she could even open her mouth. ''But I trust she's no threat to us''.

Sansa looked at her brother with the same gaze she looked at Ramsay when they met on the battlefield, and Jon softly took her hands in his.

''She's suffered under Ramsay, like you''.

His sister turned her head sideways, towards Arden's chamber, and then back to her brother, but she had no chance to answer. Their conversation was interrupted by sir Davos Seaworth, who hastily came walking towards them.

''A raven has arrived'', sir Davos spoke as he handed over a small scroll of parchment to Jon. ''From the Citadel, Oldtown''.

Jon exchanged glances with Sansa before he broke the seal on the parchment and unrolled the scroll. As he read the written words, a sense of new hope entered his heart, but along with it came more weight on his chest.

''It's from Sam'', Jon spoke as he looked up to his two companions. ''He knows of a reservoir of dragonglass, hidden away at Dragonstone''.

Two sets of eyebrows raised into the air, and for a second, Jon Snow's normally serious expression slipped, revealing a hopeful smile underneath.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three.

As the days grew colder and the nights longer, Jon Snow's restlessness grew with it. Sleep didn't come to him, no matter how exhausted his body or how heavy his eyelids. Sam's message haunted him wherever he went, and he obsessed over the emerald shimmer of dragonglass, hidden away at Dragonstone, whether it be night or day.

Despite the worries that clouded his mind, Jon remained clearheaded enough to realise he needed that dragonglass. Without it, the North wouldn't stand a chance against the army of the dead.

As they stood in the courtyard, watching over the children training for battle, he and Ser Davos Seaworth spoke of their next move.

''We have to make it to Dragonstone, fast'', the latter said. It seemed obvious enough, but for the King in the North, it wasn't.

Jon Snow remained quiet for a while. Ser Davos could almost see the wheels in his head turning. He'd noticed how quiet the King'd become. He'd noticed how his eyes gleamed darker each day.

''I can't leave the North'', was the eventual answer. ''I can't leave my people unprotected. I can't risk them getting killed when I'm sitting comfortably elsewhere!''.

''You won't have to'', Davos answered immediately. His old eyes wandered from the archers in front of him to the young woman standing across the courtyard. Sansa Stark stood there, her eyes focused on arrows flying through the sky, her expression as cold as it had been since the death of her sadistic husband.

''Times have hardened her. She's capable''.

Jon's eyes followed his gaze, and a frown appearead between his brows. He was aware of what Ser Davos was meaning to say. Sansa could hold the North, she could hold Winterfell, and he knew she was capable. He knew his friend, his advisor - was right. Still, there was a voice in his head pleading with his indecisiveness not to leave Winterfell. With a threat as big and as strong as the one coming for them, how could he possibly leave his sister here alone? It was as if the young king could hear the army of the dead marching, and the sound grew louder each morning.

''Whatever you decide'', Davos continued. ''Be quick about it. We haven't got much time''. With his words still processing in the back of Jon Snow's mind, the man walked from under his shelter, back into the drizzling snow.

For a short second, Jon's eyes met Sansa's - they exchanged a look of worry, both worry for themselves and eachother. Soon after, Sansa turned her back on him and retracted back inside.

And Jon started walking. He walked over the courtyard, past the stables where his loyal direwolf, Ghost, quickly joined him. He walked further, past the crypts, through the Western gates, into the white frozen woods as snow crunched under his feet and all sound slowly faded.

There he stood, at last, amidst towering trees - covered in white, taken back by winter while inside of him, a fire was raging. That fire grew hotter each second and his veins felt as if they were set ablaze. The overwhelming warmth spread through his spine, his lungs, his heart and even his eyes burned until that wildfire within him exploded and he let out a tortured cry - one that made the birds fly up and echoed through the sky - as he slammed his fists on the trunk nearest to him, again, again, and again. Everything came at him, all at once, everything he'd kept hidden under his cool exterior since he'd left Winterfell. As his knuckles started to bleed and old battlescars reopened, he thought of how his brothers betrayed him, he thought of how Ygritte had died in his arms, how his brother and father had been murdered, how his youngest brother ran towards him on the battlefield and was pierced by one of Ramsay's arrows because he wasn't fast enough to save him. He thought of how Ramsay had brutalized his sister, of how he'd devouled Winterfell, he thought of the Night King, he thought of Arya, of Bran, he thought of everyone and everything - and he stopped thinking of the excrusiating pain in his hands until suddenly, Ghost pushed its snout into Jon's flank, and the raging stopped.

Breathing heavily, Jon leaned against the tree he'd just abused, and the white wolf looked up to him with what seemed like a worried look in its gleaming eyes.

''You've hurt yourself''.

Jon slowly looked up from his direwolf, right at Arden, who was standing a few feet across from him. He followed her gaze and observed his injured hands. The skin on his knuckles had come loose and was bleeding heavily. He'd reopened old wounds and added new ones, and the stiffness of his bones gave away that they were going to bruise soon.

''What are you doing here?'', was Jon's remark.

Arden shortly lay her eyes on Ghost, as if she was asking the wolf's permission to come near. When the wolf didn't react, she slowly walked towards him.

''I've just come to clear my head''.

Jon noticed she was carrying a dagger, and he immediately wondered how she'd gotten her hands on that. He'd never seen it before.

''Let me see'', Arden said, reaching out for Jon's hands.

''It's nothing'', he protested, but she took his hands anyway and studied the wounds carefully.

''That wasn't nothing. I know anger when I see it''.

She carefully went through her knees, still holding the young king's hands in hers, and she collected a handful of snow from the ground - covering the wounds in the icecold substance. It stung for a second, but soon brought Jon some relief.

''What are you angry about?'', was the next question.

Jon couldn't help but flash a short smile. There were a million things to be angry about, but he couldn't let it take the best of him - not now, not like it just had.

''How'd you get that dagger?''.

Arden's silver eyes flashed from his face to the weapon dangling from her waist. The dagger was made entirely of steel, the pommel carved to represent a roaring bear, the blade thin, sharp and shimmering.

''My father gave it to me'', the girl answered. ''I hid it here, in the woods, before I - before I was brought here''.

''You were brought here?'', he asked. His question was answered with a quick nod.

''By who?''.

Arden let go of his hands and smiled an unconvincing smile. ''I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours''.

''Your story, Jon Snow. Just your story'', she clarified after a while of silence.

Jon was hesitant about telling this young girl, someone who he'd met just two days prior and knew nothing about but her name, all of his troubles and thoughts, but he also knew if he didn't - things like this, exploding in sudden rage and losing control, were bound to happen again.

And so they sat down, in the snow, their backs leaning against the tree, and he told Arden all of the things that had gone through his mind just seconds ago. He told her about him being a bastard, about joining the Night's Watch and being betrayed by his own men. Men that he trusted, men that he would have died for had it been necessary. He told her about how he'd hung a young boy for his act of treason and how he abandonded his vows and turned his back on his life as Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He told her about his complicated first love, the only girl he'd ever loved, Ygritte, who he and his men ended up fighting - and killing. He told her about Arya and Bran, who he still thought of every day. He'd prayed to Gods he didn't actually believe in to bring them back to Winterfell. He told her about the threat that was coming for them all and the crushing weight that rested on his shoulders, and finally, he told her about Rickon. He explained what Ramsay had done, how his youngest brother had ran towards him, as fast as he could, with hope in his heart and his eyes, with his hands stretched out towards him, pleading for him to save him from that monster. He trusted his older brother to save him, and Jon had failed.

When he finally stopped talking and turned towards Arden, he saw a horrified look staring at him in awe. Arden noticed the pain in the young king's eyes and suddenly realised the immense pressure he must have been under. After everything he'd been through, he'd kept on fighting, but now that his biggest and most important battle was coming up, he was falling apart underneath it all.

''There's nothing you could have done'', Arden whispered with burning eyes. She took Jon's hands in hers, determined to bring some peace to his haunted mind.

''That's how he was'', she softly continued, tightly holding onto him. ''He played with people. No matter what you would have done, or how fast you would have been, Rickon would have died. Nobody could have saved your brother. Ramsay was never going to let him live''.

''My sister said the same, the night before battle''.

Arden smiled softly. ''She's a smart girl''.

''Aye'', Jon spoke. ''She worries about me''.

''Rightfully so. She loves you and you live a dangerous life, Jon Snow''.

''I don't care about my life'', was Jon's frustrated reaction. ''I've died once before and I'd do it again if that's what it takes. But her - she's all I've got, now. I have to protect her. I can't fail her too''.

''It's okay-'', Arden began, but this made Jon's frustration turn into anger immediately. He jumped up from the snow, Ghost immediately after him.

''It's not okay!'', he yelled. ''My brother is dead - because of me. I have no idea where Arya and Bran are - I don't know if they're even alive! She's all I have. She's all the family I have left in this world, and now that it matters most, I can't be here to protect her''.

The girl made the decision to stay quiet. This king in front of her, had a haunted mind and had been deprived of sleep. The weight on his shoulders, she could not begin to imagine. He looked at her for a short second with a pain in his eyes she'd remember forever - and then he left, leaving her to sit in the cold, wet snow by herself.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four.

Shortly after Jon Snow and his white wolf left the woods, the young woman arose from the frozen ground and made her way back to Winterfell. She felt that she'd gotten to know the young king a lot better. She'd sat there and heard his stories, understood his strengths, and his weaknesses. Arden knew that his biggest weakness was his kind heart, and she suspected it would get him killed, some day.

As she walked through the Western gates, the hood of her cloak shielding her face from the frigid winds, she spotted Sansa, walking towards her. Arden's heart skipped a beat and she turned around, hastily walking back to where she'd just come from.

Sansa had already spotted her.

''Excuse me.. girl!'', Sansa called out, not knowing how to address the to her still unknown woman.

Arden knew she couldn't walk away from Sansa Stark, and so she stopped, her back still turned.

''Forgive me, we haven't met, lady…''.

''I'm not a lady'', was the immediate answer.

''Then what should I call you?'', Sansa asked, staring at the cloaked back in front of her.

''Arden, milady''.

''Well, Arden. It would be appropriate for you to face me''.

Arden's pulse grew stronger, and her last hope before she turned around was that her hood would cover the biggest part of her face. However, as soon as she'd turned, and she saw the look in Sansa's eyes change from suspicion to absolute shock, she knew she'd been exposed.

''What are _you_ doing here?'', Sansa hissed, her lips pressed together angrily.

The young woman in front of her opened her mouth in an attempt to answer, but Sansa cut her off immediately.

''Does my brother know who you are?'', she asked, stepping away from Arden.

''He does, milady, I-''.

''Don't you ever come near me or my brother again, do you understand? I'll have you hanged if you do.''

Sansa glanced upon the young woman's face once more, and her stomach turned. She quickly turned around and made her way to Jon's chambers, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, flustered from the face she'd just seen appear beneath a black hood.

As she burst into the room, ignoring the courtesy of knocking, she saw Jon and ser Davos, bent over a small scroll, their expressions equally serious.

''She'd make a good ally in the war to come, your grace'', was Davos's remark.

''Jon'', Sansa interrupted, drawing the attention of both men. Jon noticed the fearful expression on his sister's face and frowned. ''What is it, Sansa?'', he asked in a worried tone.

''That girl, Arden. She's not who she makes herself out to be''.

Jon frowned even deeper and exchanged a short glance with Davos, who nodded and quietly left the room.

''Sansa, I have things to-''.

''She's dangerous, Jon! Please. Listen to me. I _know_ her'', Sansa begged.

Jon looked at her, patiently, trusting, with the same worried look he carried just a while ago.

''Her name's not Arden. It's Victoria. She was Ramsay's mistress''.

The young king froze for a short second and tried to read his sister's face, but all he could tell was that she was truly fearful.

''How do you know?'', Jon asked.

Sansa slowly walked towards him and looked him straight in his eyes, wanting to make sure he listened to every word she was telling him.

''I saw them, together. When he kept me here- I saw them. She was the one that drew my baths, and brought me food, and made sure I looked pretty for him. She loved him. She followed him everywhere – did everything he asked her to do, and the nights he.. spared me, he was with her.''

Jon felt anger take over when he saw the pained expression on his sister's face, but at the same time, he felt confused. The bruised girl he'd met on the courtyard, and the fearful girl he'd spoken to didn't seem at all the type to fall in love with a sadistic man, let alone be sadistic herself.

''Are you sure, Sansa? You said so yourself, Ramsay had many girls, maybe-''.

''It's her, Jon. I'm sure of it. She recognized me, just then on the courtyard. She was afraid to turn to me, afraid to look me in the eyes, because she knew who I am and what I know!''.

Jon slowly took his sister's hand in his in an attempt to calm her.

''If she is who you say she is, I'll find out'', he said.

Sansa opened her mouth in protest, and Jon quickly took her other hand too.

''I promised to keep you safe, did I not? That's what I'm gonna do. I'll keep you safe. Trust me''.

The pair of eyes looking back at him, fearful, angry, saddened, it reminded him clearly of what his priority was.

''Trust me'', he repeated, whispering, and he smiled a warm, soft smile.

Sansa hesitated for a short second, but finally nodded slowly. ''I trust you''.

As darkness fell in Winterfell, Jon remained in his chambers, thinking about what Sansa had told him, and about the raven that came for him today. He'd received a message from the imp, Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen to Daenerys Targaryen. Tyrion had invited the King in the North to come to Dragonstone and meet the Dragon Queen in person, so to join her conquest of taking the Iron Throne. Though Jon was hesitant to go, Davos had pointed out to him over and over that Daenerys could make a valuable ally in the war to come. He'd also pointed out that she was sitting on what they needed most right now; dragon glass.

However, he felt he had to deal with what threat was closest to him first. And so, he'd ordered for the girl he'd previously known as Arden to be escorted to his chambers.

Shortly after, there was a knock on his door, and Arden's pale face peeked into the room. Behind her stood Brienne, her hand resting on her sword and her face serious as ever.

''Thank you, Brienne''.

Brienne of Tarth nodded, turned and left, shutting the door behind her.

Arden nervously stared at the king in front of her, who sat on the edge of his dark wooden desk.

''You still owe me your story'', Jon Snow spoke.

''Has Sansa spoken to you about me?'', the woman whispered.

Jon simply nodded. ''I assume you know what she's told me''.

A sad smile appeared on Arden's pale face.

''That I am a traitor. That I'm not who I claim to be and I can't be trusted. All that stuff, I suppose''.

''Aye'', Jon answered. ''I'm giving you a chance to tell me the truth. A chance my sister wouldn't have given you. She'd have you hanged.''

Arden realized hours ago she'd been exposed, and she knew how foolish she had been. She shouldn't have stayed here, with Sansa. After everything that happened with Ramsay Bolton, it was nothing short of logical for Sansa Stark to hate her. She should've known better. She should've left when she still had the chance.

''It's a long story''.

''I've got time'', Jon answered. He wasn't going to be able to sleep anyway. Not for a while.

Arden slowly sat down in a chair and folded her hands together as a deep sigh rolled over her lips.

''My name's not Arden'', she began, softly. ''It's Victoria. I chose Arden because I was afraid of being uncovered. I chose it after the poem. I was surprised you'd recognized it''. Arden, or Victoria, smiled a soft smile, but Jon stared back at her, commanding her to go on. The girl quickly cleared her throat and continued. ''I loved Ramsay Bolton, and I was foolish enough to believe he loved me back. I didn't know he wasn't capable of such a thing. He never knew love. But I was so blinded by him, by the thought of being his – the Lady of Winterfell, that I didn't realize how horrible he was. I did whatever he told me to do without thinking. I thought everything he did was for us – so that we could be together, and I went along with it all. I took care of your sister. I brought her clothes, food, I drew her baths and I accompanied her on the days she was let out of her room. She begged me, more times than I can count, to set her free, to help her escape, but I couldn't. I knew what he was doing to her, and it disgusted me, but I couldn't do it. As much as I loved him, I feared him too''.

Jon's eyes grew colder, his heart angrier. She'd lied to him. Not only that, she'd refused to help his sister when she needed it most. Any person that knew Jon Snow personally knew nothing was more important to him than the people he cared for, and anyone that hurt those people unleashed a fire within him unknown to a Stark.

''Everything was fine, for a while. Then came another girl. Myranda. She was the kennel master's daughter, and I could see her affections for Ramsay grow. All of a sudden, I was no longer enough. I bored him. He told me that himself, one evening. I knew what that meant. He'd take me into the woods and chase me with his hounds and his bow and arrow, like he'd done to every other girl that bored him. I lay awake that night, trembling in fear. The next morning, he came to tell me that Myranda had other plans for me. She despised me so much she'd damn me to a lifetime of suffering, instead of a painful but quick death. She convinced him to let me live, to become her servant. I did whatever they wanted me to do to survive. When I wasn't walking around, serving their every need, they'd chain me to the stove in the kitchen. That was where I slept and spent most of my hours. It could've been worse, I suppose. He had this other.. slave. A man. Ramsay called him Reek and made him sleep with his hounds''.

Jon's blood froze, for a second, as he realized that Reek was Theon Greyjoy. His former friend, who'd betrayed him and the Stark family name. As much as Jon hated Theon, he was the one that helped Sansa escape. If it wasn't for him, she might not have been alive today.

''I did what I had to do to survive, your grace'', Arden whispered, a tear rolling over her cheek. ''I wish I could take it all back. I wish I'd known what kind of a monster he was.''

The young king's head rattled. This woman had kept Sansa imprisoned, and she'd loved a monstrous man, but if she'd truly done it to survive, was she not a victim as much as his sister? His heart and his head told him different things, but Jon chose to have faith in what his heart was telling him.

''You can leave, now'', Jon said finally, after a few minutes of silence.

Arden raised her head, a look of confusion in her teary eyes. ''You're not going to kill to me?'', she whispered.

Jon smiled a weak smile. ''Not now'', he answered.

Arden stood up immediately, folded her hands together in gratitude and swallowed deep. ''Thank you, your grace''. Another tear escaped her steel coloured eyes. ''You have a kind heart''.

After the woman left the room, Jon felt he had to discuss the matter with Sansa. She had to know that Arden, or Victoria, wasn't a threat to her or anyone else. She'd been taken advantage of, much like every other person that ever had the unfortunate fate of meeting with Ramsay Bolton.

Jon had to ease his sister's mind. Especially now that she was going to hold the North while he travelled to Dragonstone to meet Daenerys Targaryen.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five.

In the days leading up to Jon's departure, Sansa grew more and more suspicious of their guest. The woman known to them as Arden, whose actual name was Victoria, made Sansa Stark feel uneasy, regardless of her older brother's constant reassurance that she was no threat. He'd tell her over and over how Arden was one of Ramsay's victims, like her, but Sansa felt betrayed. During the time she needed help more than ever, Arden had turned her back on her, knowing all of the horrible things that Ramsay did to her. No matter how she tried, a voice deep within kept telling her not to trust the doe-eyed woman roaming around Winterfell.

Jon's last night in Winterfell was a cold, clear night. The sky was black, the stars and full moon clearly visible from the windows of his chamber. As he lay in his bed, his hands folded on his stomach, he thought of the fate of the previous Starks who'd met with the Mad King, and he wondered if going to meet with his daughter would cost him his life, too.

He worried about Sansa. He was sure of her capabilities to rule the North while he was gone, but he worried about her spirit. It seemed dim, lately. After all that she'd endured, of course, that wasn't so strange, but still. The one thing that eased his mind a little was Brienne's presence. She'd sworn an oath to protect Sansa with her life if need be, and Jon knew she'd keep true to her word.

Suddenly, the door of his chamber opened, and in walked Arden, a flaming source of light held in her hands. Jon immediately sat upright in his bed and frowned. ''Arden'', he exclaimed.

''I couldn't sleep'', was the answer. The wooden door shut softly, and Arden set the dark wooden candleholder down on Jon's desk, filling the room with a warm golden glow.

Jon glanced at her from under his eyebrows. Arden wore a long, white nightgown, bound together at the waist. She'd let her auburn hair hang loosely over her shoulders, and the young king noticed the bruising and wounds on her face had almost faded completely.

Arden kneeled onto the floor by the edge of Jon's bed, resting her arms onto the mattress and looking up to Jon with a pair of tired looking eyes.

''I have to thank you'', she whispered.

''You don't'', Jon answered, slowly shaking his head. ''I did what any man would do''.

''Not any man'', Arden smiled. ''But you, yes. You're an honorable man''.

''I try to be''.

''It's what your father taught you''.

It was a comment that caught Jon Snow off guard. He looked at Arden, frowned slightly and smiled a weak smile. Ned Stark's face flashed through his already troubled mind, and though he didn't show it, he felt a stab in the heart when he thought of how his honorable father's life had come to an end.

''You look like your thoughts are running away with you'', the young woman at the edge of his bed whispered, slowly reaching out for his hand.

Jon clenched his jaws together. ''They are'', was his answer. He frowned and cleared his throat, running his free hand through his dark hair in the process. ''Sometimes''.

Arden nodded, as if she understood exactly the troubles the young king dealt with, and the pressures that burdened him.

''You shouldn't be afraid'', she told him.

Jon chuckled softly, slowly shaking his head. ''I have every reason to be. I have a sister and a home to protect. I have a war to fight - one that I cannot win if I don't meet with the Dragon Queen. And if I do, she might murder me and the North will be lost. I'm fighting enemies everywhere, both in this world and inside my head and I-''.

''And you will fight them all''. Arden took both of his hands in hers and sat upright, staring him straight in the eyes. ''And you will destroy every last one of them. You are Jon Snow. You battled your way through this life and you became King in the North. And now, you will battle some more, to prove once again what a righteous, honorable king you are''.

She softly placed her hand on Jon's cheek and pressed her forehead against his as she whispered: ''Have no fear, Jon Snow, for it cannot be worse than you've already endured''.

And as she opened her eyes, looking straight into Jon's, their lips met, as neither of them could resist the temptation that dripped from their tongues any longer. With a swift movement, Jon wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his bed, as the candle on his desk slowly burned out.

The raven haired king had no idea the curse he'd casted upon himself as he gave into this moment of weakness, but he would, eventually.

That very next morning, Sansa stood on the wall, watching over the courtyard as people hastily made ready for Jon and Ser Davos's departure. She had just begun to realize the responsibilities that were now hers to bare. Winterfell, and the North, depended on her capabilities to rule. When she was younger, she'd always wanted to be queen. She wanted the fortune, the fame, the dresses, and most of all, the king that came with it. Now, in all irony, she was forced to be queen, though this was the time in her life where she wanted the title least. After everything, she simply longed to be able to sit in her room and knit by the fireplace, as her mother stood and watched over her shoulder. Those times seemed to have been from another life.

Sansa saw Jon coming out of the crypts. His face was calm, but his eyes spit fire. When she saw Littlefinger stumbling out after him, his hand clasped around his throat, she realized why, and she couldn't help but smile a little.

Immediately after, though, she felt sadness. With Jon, she felt safe. She felt like nothing in the world could touch her. Jon would kill himself before he let anything bad happen to her. Now he was leaving, and all she had left to protect her was Brienne. As Jon swung his legs over the back of his horse, Sansa's eyes wandered to the dark corner of the courtyard, where Arden stood, quietly watching. Though to Sansa, it looked more like brooding. Sansa suspected what her first task as ruler in the North was going to be, and it was getting rid of that traitor once and for all.

Jon gave his younger sister one last look before he rode off into the white fray. It was a hopeful look, a look that said: ''I promise I'll come back''. Sansa smiled at him and nodded, as if they were speaking with their eyes, and Jon returned the same warm smile.

With that image printed in her mind, Sansa watched her brother slowly fade away into white nothingness. After they'd disappeared behind the hills, Sansa stood there for ten more minutes, until the wet snow had drenched her cloak and made its way to her bones.

When she turned around to face the courtyard, Arden was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
